Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Mom, just now sitting next to me on sofa, knitting: "Boy, Cunty II is going to have her blanket sooner than any of them." Dana had her third nugget a few weeks ago—Jaylen Rose Silver. Yes, after the basketball player. Don't ask.

So, me. I am sort of indescribable. It's like deja vu with a bitter twist. I'm back (mentally) to where I was two years ago. Except it's worse. It's worse because instead of feeling like I defeated Cancer, I feel defeated; deflated; punished by the universe. And Ellie just died. And my friends in New York are suffering. And my great friend is in the hospital for major surgery and I'm wondering when did 30 become the new 80? And it's fucking BC Awareness month. And all but TWO of my Cancer Chicks in their thirties have had recurrences. All of us. There may never be a 'cure,' but can't someone, anyone figure out the why? Why so many women in their 20s and 30s are being attacked. Pollution, cosmetics, deodorant, processed food, toxic air—everything that industrialization has brought us is likely killing us. Then again, without all this technology, our care wouldn't be advanced.

And one out of eight of you ladies will get Breast Cancer, yet I cannot inspire any of my girlfriends to get mammograms? Except you Lesley, I still remember;) That—in addition to all my peeps changing their Facebook profile photo to one with me—would be the ultimate homage.

Yesterday mom and I headed to Neiman's Last Call, which was of course our default retail therapy location last time. Instead of getting that adrenaline high, I got very depressed and anxious. I'd been back there with Meredith in March, but I don't think I've been there with mom since the last Cancer. The following conversation with the employees behind the jewelry counter didn't help either:

"Excuse me, where are the good designers?"

"You mean couture? Oh, we got rid of those. The only stuff left is on those clearance racks."

I let the fact go that she'd employed the word "couture" to describe ready-to-wear, but I can't say that it didn't annoy me.

(Melnick says I need to get my anger under control so as not to raise my cortisol levels. He brought mom and I in for a free session this a.m. before we went to the PET scan.)

"What do you mean you're not carrying good designers anymore? Seriously?"

Natch, they were giving me the stink eye. "We're not getting any more couture till January."

"WHAT? Why?"

"They're sending them to the bigger stores."

Newman! I mean Sawgrass! I walked into the dressing rooms and told mom.

"Now there's really no reason to stay in Miami!" I proclaimed.

Of course we still managed to get some good deals. But I don't think I'll ever return to that Neiman's. Memories of Manolos and mastectomies and bandages and blood and rushing to the plastic surgeon because I tried on clothes the day after a major surgery and fucked up the bandages. So, I don't know, maybe Sawgrass. Or, depending on how bad the news is, Bal Harbour. I could use an every day black bag with silver hardware. Friday after Durrett and Chris dropped me off and I was alone in my apartment doped up beyond belief, I went on the Neiman's Web site and bought this snazzy little Valentino, in black. FUCK pink:

Then I forgot about this beautiful work of art. I didn't even remember until I came home today—five days later—that I'd ordered it. Hellloooo—clear cut sign I've really lost it.

My moods are kind of all over the place. I'm trying not to cry around mom; she's actually holding up much better than last time and despite a dinner with a group of 10 of my friends, she didn't tear up.

But as I was in the PET scan machine—picture an MRI type tube—for 20+ minutes that song "Lean on Me" came on. And I just lost it. What a great song to hear, but I really started crying. Because I have the most amazing family and friends in the world and I can lean on them. They want me to lean on them. I feel like I have the best support system in the world. But what does leaning on someone mean? Crying in their arms? Holding hands? I'm not a touchy feely person and I'm pretty much a private crier, except for Monday, when I was sobbing not only in Schwartz's office, but in the chemo ward to Michael, the charge nurse and the one I'm closest to. And then down to Peggy, Dr. Mesko's nurse. After two years, nobody had seen me really cry at that hospital. Not that I held it in. It was just, well, not fun, but it wasn't this scary or depressing. I was purposeful. And optimistic.

I'm sure none of this makes sense. One point five mgs of Klonopin and a Vicodin. (Like I said in the title, just assume I'm doped up while writing this week.) It's just so hard. It was so hard to allegedly "beat" it. And I never even did.

Sigh. Last night about 10 of my friends joined me and mom for drinks and dinner mostly sans Cancer talk. I wanted to hear about their drama—El Jefe sweating his exam; Laura sweating her school application etc. But it was nice and fun and I drank and barely ate and felt normal for a few hours. Tonight mom and I are chilling, watching DVRd shows, cleaning etc.

I have to tell you that although I'm optimistic/happy about so many aspects of my life—I mean, on Saturday I get to cover the Indy 300 for ESPN the magazine down on the field in the pit with all the hotties—it's nearly impossible for me to be optimistic and/or think positively today. I try to force my brain to say mantras and think positively, however, I can't quite come up with a catchy mantra conveying the message, "Please don't let it have metastasized. Please don't let it have metastasized. Please don't let it have metastasized. Please don't let it have metastasized." Any ideas?

I know that I would be so, so, so beyond fucked without my friends and family and I am grateful and thankful to no end for them—and you guys, most of whom are relative strangers—for the heartfelt support. So so so sooooo grateful I can't even tell you. They, and you guys are awesome.

Mom and Lynn (in Dr. Schwartz's office before the bad news) didn't plan on wearing the same outfit down to the Choos, but . . .And, yeah, I got the dress I'm wearing at Neiman's yesterday;)